Excuses, Excuses
by betty brant
Summary: Movieverse. Goes AU from a scene in the second movie. Pairing: Peter&MJ. Fluffy fic. After Peter misses her play, MJ decides she's had enough of his excuses. Peter has to come up with a new approach or else. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Excuses, Excuses** ...

_Disclaimer: None of this is mine, and I fully admit some of the dialogue is heavily indebted to various scenes from the second movie (what I could remember of it -- I've only seen it twice). The odd line or two of dialogue might owe something to another story too, because I also found Scarlet's excellent movie novelization, "The Story Continues," very helpful in stimulating my memory. If you haven't read it yet, what are you waiting for? _

_A/N: This story came about because I couldn't help thinking "If only..." while watching Peter wait disconsolately outside the theater after missing MJ's show. You know: if only she'd seen him, if only he'd waited on the other side of the street, if only she knew how much trouble he'd taken even getting there, etc. My story is certainly not as good or as romantic as the movie, but there just aren't enough Peter/MJ fics out there right now. So, if you like that sort of thing, I hope you get a brief moment of enjoyment out of this frivolous bit of fluff._

Peter sat on the concrete steps of a brownstone across from the theater, waiting impatiently for the play to end. He kept his eyes fixed on the stage door, as if he could make it open and make MJ appear through it, just by staring at it. Funny how there hadn't been enough time while he'd rushed to the theater on his moped, striving vainly to make the eight o'clock curtain. Now the minutes crawled past as though burdened with leaden weights, and there were far too many of them.

He looked miserably at his scuffed shoes. Probably he shouldn't be in a such a hurry for the show to end, he thought, since he had no idea what he was going to say to MJ to explain his absence this time. _MJ, I tried to come to your show, I really did, but a car of reckless thugs plowed into me, I had to save a group of people from being crushed – also the fault of the reckless thugs – and finally I decided that they needed to be stopped_. Ha. As if. While this explanation had more novelty than his usual lame excuses – "I was busy" or "I lost track of time" or "there was a disturbance" – it was still only an excuse. He had a feeling that MJ would be as uninterested in his excuses as he himself was in offering them.

If only he could tell her who he was ... scratch that, if only he'd been able, just for once, to put aside his responsibilities. All he'd wanted was to enjoy a few uninterrupted moments of peace and happiness in the company of the sparkling girl who'd always been able to make him feel on top of the world with just her sunny smile. But no such luck.

While he was lamenting his usual terrible luck, an Asian girl who'd been playing an out-of-tune violin solo behind him, took a smiling bow to an invisible audience, then began to pluck out an only too familiar staccato melody.

_No way, _Peter thought in aversion, _could this night get any worse? _Apparently it could, because the busker began singing, in a heavily accented and rather off-key voice,

_Spider-Man, Spider-Man, _

_Does whatever a spider can – _

_Spins a web, any size, _

_Catches thieves just like flies ..._

Since the first time he'd heard it, Peter had abhorred the silly novelty tune that had become popular with buskers during the last two years: the song was stupid; it was tacky; it embarrassed him. He wasn't a heroic "streak of light" and he certainly didn't find life to be a "great big bang up." Who had written this stuff? That line about radioactive blood irked him the most: if he had radioactive blood, he'd be _dead_.

Tonight the silly ditty jangled his already taut nerves painfully. After all, he reflected, returning to his previous train of thought, it was all Spider-man's fault that he was in this fix. If it hadn't been for Spider-man (who'd had to perform a last minute rescue of a falling construction worker on the way home from the interview with Dr. Octavius, then take the man to a hospital for treatment of the concussion that had caused him to fall in the first place) he wouldn't have had to do a late load of laundry just to have some clean underwear for the evening. He would have been at the theater with more than three measly carnations in his hands, long before those thugs had gone on their joyride. Of course, those people on that street corner would also most likely have been flattened ...

Disgusted with the conundrum that was his life, Peter was on his feet and moving before he even knew it. Across the street, the show was finally getting out. Peter darted nimbly through the knots of people to linger by the stage door. He hoped to catch MJ as soon as she emerged, and wished he could wait unnoticed on the side of a building or on top of a street light to get out of the crowd. But anything was better than having to listen to that song, alone with his thoughts. The strains of it were still drifting across the street, but fortunately he could barely hear them through the bustle and chatter of the excited theater-goers.

Inside the theater, MJ slipped into her coat and gathered up her purse with a heavy heart. She was annoyed with herself for feeling so downcast, because it wasn't exactly a surprise that, once again, Peter Parker had disappointed her by failing to show up for something. There was the time that they'd planned to see a movie together, and she'd waited in front of the movie theater like a dolt through both the first and second showings, hoping that she'd just mixed up the time. There was the time that they'd wanted to try out a new restaurant together in celebration of MJ's first real modeling job, and she'd had to wait alone at a table for two, staring blankly at the ultra-modern chair opposite, for over an hour. When Peter had finally arrived, breathless, disheveled, apologetic, full of some absurd story about a subway breakdown and a lost kitty, he'd been too distracted and tired to carry on a conversation; they'd skipped dessert so she could take him home early in a taxi. Then there was the time they'd gone out for coffee together recently; Peter had barely taken a sip from his cup before he had remembered something he'd forgotten to do and rushed out of the door of the café without even taking his coat. Despite the fact that she had known he wouldn't be coming back, she'd finished her coffee and sat staring at the facing chair – this time a straight, wooden one, with Peter's jacket draped over it – for an hour before collecting the coat and leaving.

Most memorable of all was the time, over a year ago now, when they'd gone to an amusement park together. They'd actually been having a great time at the start of the afternoon, because it was all so fun and silly. They'd gone on one or two rides, shared a box of popcorn and talked for the first time in ages. For a lark, she'd had a strip of pictures taken in a photo booth, and, secretly pleased by his round-eyed and blatant admiration of her ridiculous "See no evil, Hear no evil, Speak no evil" poses, had given the strip to Peter, making a joke that someday he could say that "he knew her back when..." She felt happy and a little giddy: Peter was still in some ways such a kid, with his eyes crinkling in delight as he looked at her and his occasional off-the-cuff funny remarks. She'd been laughing helplessly at one of his quips when they'd heard an announcement over the loudspeakers clearing the park. Apparently there had been a mechanical failure on the roller coaster – something about cars stalled and tangled – and the park needed to be cleared so that emergency workers could more easily reach the people who were still trapped at the top of the ride. For a second, Peter had bristled with an emotion that looked like it could be anger or annoyance or anxiety – or maybe all three – and then he'd said casually that it looked like the fun was over for the day, and could she get home alright herself, because he'd just remembered that he had something he needed to do. Flabbergasted, she watched him dash through the crowd without waiting for her reply, and on the long ride home, first on a bus and then on a subway train, she looked unhappily at the empty seats beside her, realizing for the first time that Peter was never going to fill them.

Maybe she should just face the facts. Despite his protestations of friendship and the captivating warmth of his smile whenever he saw her, Peter didn't seem to care that much about her. He probably didn't spend the time thinking about her or wondering what she was doing, that she spent thinking and wondering about him. After all, before his birthday celebration, it had been two months since their last meeting, that abortive coffee date. He never returned her calls or called her himself. He didn't even know that she had a new boyfriend or that she still had the same apartment in The Village – which was hardly surprising, since he'd never been to her previous apartment, either.

MJ couldn't help feeling that Peter's avoidance of her was all part of that same heartbreaking rejection he'd confronted her with on the day of Norman Osborn's funeral. One minute he'd been kissing her like he meant it, warm lips clinging hungrily to hers as though unwilling to release them, and the next minute he was saying awkwardly that he would always be her friend. She eyed herself in the mirror of her dressing table, remembering how strangely familiar, how intense, how overwhelming the kiss had been, and how shattering she'd also found Peter's subsequent words. The only explanation for his behavior – except for a fleeting thought that she'd dismissed as too crazy to contemplate seriously – had to be that Peter, after having a major and slightly embarrassing crush on her all through high school, had suddenly woken up to who she really was under the cute party girl exterior, and had decided that he didn't love her after all. Maybe she wasn't as smart as he was, maybe she was too shallow or emotional .... Whatever the reason for his change of heart, she didn't need the constant reminder that he didn't want her, that he would never want her, especially when he was the first man she'd ever truly loved. The fact that he didn't return her feelings made her feel like the failure her father was always saying she would be. It was starting to make her mad, too. Somewhere, somehow, she was going to find someone who would appreciate her for who she was ...

She switched the light of her dressing table off with a sigh. Her friend Louise, who was just finishing taking her make up off, looked at her with concern. "You okay?" she asked, meeting MJ's eyes in her own mirror.

"Oh yeah," said MJ, forcing a bright smile. "Just tired."

Louise wiped her face with a soft cloth, then stood up herself, switching off her dressing table's light and taking the poncho from the back of her chair. "You know, a bunch of the cast are going out to get a bite to eat and have a couple drinks in a few minutes. Since your guy is away, why don't you come with us? We'd love to have you; you always make these gatherings into a real party."

"I don't think so, but thanks," said MJ quietly, feeling momentarily guilty that she'd forgotten all about John, who was finishing up an intensive two-week training session in an undisclosed location. "I'm afraid I don't feel awake enough to be the life of the party. I'd really like to catch up on my beauty sleep." She turned and walked away, ignoring another of Louise's keen looks and thinking abstractedly about John and Peter. Why on earth was she obsessing over scatter-brained Peter Parker anyway, when she had such an attentive, loving, _reliable_ boyfriend? He'd even called her this morning from wherever he was training just to wish her luck with her performance and to promise her a surprise. Peter, on the other hand, couldn't be bothered to come to her show; in fact, he'd probably forgotten about it altogether ... likely because he had something more important to do with his oh-so-busy life. The next time she saw him, she decided, she was absolutely going to give him a piece of her mind. She was going to tell him her realization of a year ago that he had become nothing but an empty seat to her. Maybe saying it out loud would end the pain and help her move on once and for all.

MJ made her way slowly backstage, weaving through the clutter of boxes, props, scenery, and the rack of costumes on wheels being rolled away for cleaning. She passed the bustle of stage hands sweeping, carrying furniture, and restoring everything to a pristine state for the next night's opening scene. As she descended the stairs to the street door, she had one last fleeting stab of hope that Peter would be waiting outside for her. Perhaps something really had come up this time, and he would have an excuse that she could actually _believe_ – but then she dismissed the thought in anger. What was wrong with her? Couldn't she live up to her own resolution for more than two seconds? She wrenched the door open furiously, and stepped out onto the street.

End of Part I


	2. Chapter 2

**Excuses, Excuses ... (Part II)**

_A/N:_ _By the way, after this point, the story becomes AU from the second movie. I should warn you that I loved the way that the movie revealed Peter's identity to MJ, and I don't normally like AU's, so I doubt there'll be a sequel. The movie did the rest of the story so well, and I have no idea how I would I continue this. That's why it ends so abruptly (and lamely ... sorry). Oh, and I do apologize if the geography of my story is far-fetched. I've only been to New York City once, for a vacation long ago, so I just shaped the distances and times involved to suit my fancy. If they are too unbelievable, I hope you'll employ a little willing suspension of disbelief._

The street musician was just winding up her song on a shrill note, when Peter heard the stage door open behind him, and felt that customary light tingle which usually signaled to him that Mary Jane Watson was nearby. He turned swiftly and found himself looking into the beautiful face that he loved so much. MJ saw him at the same moment, and her tawny eyebrows lifted in an expression of incredulity. Her lovely green eyes, which always reminded him of shady pools of water reflecting gleams of sunlight, widened in shock and she seemed completely taken aback. For a moment they stood like statues, looking at each other; then MJ drew her eyebrows together in a thunderous expression of disdain.

"_You_!" she said contemptuously. "What are _you_ doing here? And don't tell me you were watching the show, because I know you weren't in the audience."

Peter felt his heart drop into his shoes at her tone of voice. Of course she was mad at him – and rightly so; he'd be mad too, if he'd been stood up by a so-called friend of his as many times as he'd stood her up. He struggled to think of something to say to make amends and to soothe her ruffled feelings.

"Hey, MJ," he started to say sheepishly, "I really tried to get here in time to see your play, but ..."

"Let me guess," she snapped, pushing past him, and beginning to walk briskly up the sidewalk. He followed her, quickly falling into step beside her. "You were on your way here, and there was an accident ... Or, no, you remembered you had a prior commitment ... you realized you'd left your hot plate on, and you had to go home and turn it off ... your Aunt called and needed you to do something for her ... What is it going to be this time, Peter?"

He looked into her animated face – oh boy, was she beautiful when she was mad, her gorgeous hair like a burning brand, her emerald eyes snapping sparks, her slim body tight and coiled with energy – and suddenly got angry himself. She may have had every right to be mad at him, but it wasn't his fault, it was never his fault, he was only trying to help people, dammit! _Maybe you'd have liked me to leave those people on the street corner to be pulverized by that car, MJ?_ he thought sarcastically. _Maybe you'd prefer it if those hooligans were still careening around, shooting at everything in their way?_

"Look," he said in a terse voice, trying to keep hold of his temper, "there is a very important reason why I didn't make it to the theater on time for the play. What, do you think I like to let you down? Do you think I want you to be mad at me?" MJ huffed and sped up, but he easily matched her stride. "I'm really, really sorry about tonight. There was..." Oh no, he couldn't believe that he was actually daring to give her_ this_ worn out old excuse again "...a disturbance... and ..."

As soon as she heard that, MJ threw up her hands. "I don't know you," she interrupted sharply. Then her face crumpled, her green eyes swimming with tears, and she looked miserable. "And I can't keep thinking about you. It's too painful."

Pain squeezed Peter's heart too, and suddenly his anger was gone, as quickly as it had come. Wow, she really was hurt; she probably felt as bad as he did. He softened as he watched her profile, noticing her chin quiver for a second before she got herself under control and set her jaw in determination. "I really was planning to be there all day," Peter insisted gravely, stalling for time while he frantically tried to take another stab at explaining his tardiness. Why was he so bad at this? He'd certainly had enough practice making excuses over the past two years that he ought to be good at it by now, but here he was again trying and failing to come up with a marginally believable one. He gave a weary sigh. "It's funny how complicated something like being somewhere at eight o'clock can get. And I know you predicted I'd disappoint you..."

"Bingo," MJ retorted. She kept her face turned away from him, eyes on her feet as she walked, as if she couldn't stand to look at him.

He thought about it some more, and there was a moment of silence broken only by the sound of their feet hitting the pavement in sync. Maybe it would help if she knew that he had in fact arrived while the performance was still going on. "Well, actually, there was this one obnoxious usher who wouldn't let me in ..." he started to say with a chuckle, which died in his throat as soon as he saw MJ's frigid glare.

MJ lifted her head and turned to face him incredulously. _An usher_? ... _Oh, brother_. Were these the depths to which he would stoop, to give an interfering usher as his reason for not being able to arrive at her show on time? Peter had come up with some pathetic excuses before, but this had to be the worst. At one point two years ago, she'd actually thought for an instant that he might be Spider-Man, but a real super-hero would surely be able to come up with better reasons for his mysterious absences than this elementary school level idiocy.

Seeing the irritated expression clouding her normally radiant face, Peter gave up on trying to explain himself and another heavy silence fell. As it stretched and lengthened between them, MJ at last worked up the courage to say to Peter what she had decided to say while leaving the theater. "By the way," she said emphatically, feeling her own anger building as she thought over Peter's latest pathetic excuses, "my boyfriend, John, has seen my show five times. Harry has seen it twice. Aunt May has seen it. My sick mother got out of bed to see it. Even my dad..." Well, perhaps she shouldn't embellish her story too much. "He came backstage to borrow cash," she said ruefully. That was probably the only acknowledgment of her success that she'd ever get from her father, so she guessed it deserved a mention. She stopped walking for a moment as she concentrated on what she wanted to say, and Peter stopped with her. "But my best friend," she said quietly, meeting his eyes again with reluctance, "who cares _so_ much about me, can't even make an 8:00 curtain. After all these years..." her voice caught "...he's nothing to me but an empty seat."

Looking into Peter's eyes, so deep, so blue, so full of emotion, MJ worried for an instant that she'd been too harsh. He looked stricken, which was a striking contrast to his usual demeanor of quiet confidence and authority. Then she became annoyed again at the thought that he had no right to look so ... so crestfallen ... so heart-broken ... when he hadn't wanted her, when he'd never wanted her, when he couldn't even be bothered to come to her show on time! But this time she didn't know whether she was annoyed with Peter or with herself, and she was starting to get confused as well. Clearly he had tried to come to the play. What was it that had gotten in his way anyway? A disturbance? What did that mean?

Shaking her head in bemusement and frustration, MJ started walking briskly away from him once more. Peter watched her go, paralyzed, and then suddenly realized that he needed desperately to keep her from leaving. He caught up to her again, and put a firm hand on her arm to slow her down. Taking a deep breath, he said, "MJ, I do care about you, more than you know, but I promise you ... there is a good reason why I was an empty seat tonight."

"Oh yeah?" said MJ challengingly, pulling away from the grasp of his warm, strong hand – a grasp that was starting to send disturbing little tingles up her arm – and folding her arms protectively over her chest. "Well, let's have it. And, if you do care about me at all, no more excuses, mind you – I want the truth. Give me any more lame excuses and I will _never _speak to you again."

Peter found himself shaking in his shoes. Facing a maniacal supervillain was nothing compared to the icy wrath of Mary Jane Watson, and the possibility that she might never talk to him again. He forced himself to remember that he'd had good reasons for keeping her at arm's length. _What are you doing, Parker? You reject MJ for her own safety, avoid her as much as humanly possible for two years and then suddenly you can't let her go? Are you really going to tell her everything now? What, do you want to ruin her life? _Finally, not knowing what to do, he said in a strained voice, "I wish I could just tell you the truth, Mary Jane." He looked at her steadily, willing her to believe him.

MJ was drawn into his blue eyes against her will; his earnest gaze seemed to contain yearning, pain, resolve and apology all commingled together. Plus he looked exactly like a kicked puppy. Sometimes, there was something so pathetic about Peter, something that just melted her heart in sympathy. He had an endearing way of showing his heart in his eyes, she thought, which was maybe why he was never very good at lying or hiding his feelings. She mentally stamped her foot in frustration at herself, and knew all at once that she wasn't mad at him any more. But there was no reason he needed to know that she'd already forgiven him _again _just because of his wonderful blue eyes. She said passionately, "Then tell me _something_, Peter! Even just a part of the truth ... I'll figure out the rest. Tell me what happened tonight."

Peter thought quickly. Maybe there was a way he could tell her something that would satisfy her, without telling her everything. So what if she became suspicious? He'd often worried that he'd intercepted some suspicious glances from her in the past, and they'd never amounted to much. If anything they made him wistful, because he longed to be open and honest with her but he never could find the opportunity or bring himself to take the risk. Now everything was on the line, and he had to tell her something, anything; he had to tell her a truth that would convince her of how important she was to him. For once, he even had some proof in the form of his completely totaled bike, he remembered suddenly, with a flash of annoyance at the robbers who'd mowed him down and nearly killed him – would have killed him, if it hadn't been for his unusual talent for getting out of the way of life-threatening danger quickly. Maybe he could convince her he'd been in an accident or something.

"Come with me," he said to MJ, putting a gentle hand around her arm for a second time, "I want to show you something." They'd already walked many blocks from the theater while they'd been arguing, and now he looped his arm through her slim and supple one and steered them in a new direction, heart pounding at what he was about to tell her.

He set a fast pace himself this time and, while he thought over what he wanted to say, MJ fell naturally into step beside him, her arm still tucked comfortably through his. At last he started to speak. "I went to the laundromat after dinner, because I needed to do a quick load of laundry to have some clean clothes for tonight. I didn't have time to do it earlier, for reasons I won't get into now. I only had money for one load and it took a while" – he gave her a slightly shamefaced look as he mumbled, "plus I ruined some socks and t-shirts by mixing some bright colors in with my whites ... not that it matters." Darn it, he was rambling; he had to get back on track – "Anyway, I finally managed to wash and dry everything, then went home, had a shower, and changed." He watched MJ's face closely for signs that she might be losing patience with him, but she was listening quietly, eyes on her shoes.

They walked on, stepping together in a perfect rhythm almost like two dancers, and Peter continued, "I was all dressed and ready to go by about twenty after seven. On my way out, the landlord tried to corner me about my overdue rent, but I ran down the stairs as fast as I could to avoid him. I took my moped, only there was a lot of traffic. Now it was twenty-five after seven. Then I stopped to buy you some carnations from a street vendor, at around 7:35. I thought I could still make it, but I had a long way to go, so I hopped back on my moped and gunned the engine. At around 7:45 I heard sirens in the distance." MJ looked up into Peter's face at that, feeling a growing sense of anticipation, because _this_ story at last had a ring of truth about it.

Peter took another deep breath, remembering his internal argument with himself – _not tonight, please not tonight – surely the cops can handle whatever it is just this once_._ C'mon, even super-heroes need a night off sometimes_. He had eventually decided he would ignore the sirens. Then he had drifted deep into thought, trying to prepare something intelligent to say to MJ after her performance – which he knew would knock his socks off and leave him a stammering idiot – when out of the blue his spider sense had warned him to jump. After that, of course, he couldn't ignore the sirens, or the dimwits driving the convertible that had nearly run him over, any longer. He also couldn't deny the hot anger searing through him, both at the selfish indifference of the thugs and at the fact that, once again, Spider-man's never-ending responsibility was interfering with Peter Parker's life.

"What happened next?" inquired MJ curiously, and he realized he had fallen silent while he was thinking. MJ was looking at him intently, clearly hanging on his every word. _Here goes nothing_, thought Peter.

"There were sirens because a high-speed car chase was happening. Some guys had just committed a robbery somewhere, and were making their getaway in a convertible. They were being chased by two police cars, but they were better – or crazier – drivers than the cops, so they were pulling ahead of them. They drove really fast and they had guns, which they were shooting back in the direction of the cops. Their wild driving was putting pedestrians, other drivers – and me on my moped – in danger. I wasn't paying attention, and they weren't looking where they were going, either, when all of a sudden they came up behind me, and ..." how could he say this without sounding ridiculous? "...ran over my bike."

MJ looked at him skeptically. "Are you kidding?" she said, with an incredulous little laugh. Did Peter honestly expect her to believe he'd been run over? He was completely unscathed; yes, his suit was a little wrinkled but it wasn't even dirty. And here she'd thought he was going to tell her the truth. She tried to work herself into a temper over this most bizarre of excuses, but gave up as she realized that she was feeling too cosy, and too happy, with her arm tucked through Peter's, to get mad about anything. Besides, Peter was looking remarkably sincere. He had none of that shifty-eyed, hesitant look he usually got when he was giving her some lame excuse. His blue eyes were direct and bold, and he seemed full of nervous energy as he drew her along with him.

"No, I'm not kidding," Peter replied, shooting a cautious, sidelong glance at her. "The convertible ran over my bike, and the two police cars tearing after it finished the job by knocking it off the road and into the gutter."

"Peter," said MJ slowly, "how on earth did you manage to get out of the path of a high-speed car chase, while riding on a moving vehicle, without seriously hurting yourself?" A weird feeling was stealing over her, as though she were falling under a spell. Peter had the strangest expression on his face, a really focused, inward-looking expression, as if he were struggling with something monumental.

"I jumped," Peter said simply, "but never mind that now."

"You _jumped_?" MJ said in disbelief. "How...?"

"Look, do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?" said Peter, impatient to be done with it. The suspense, and MJ's questions, were both excruciating.

"Yes, go on," said MJ dazedly. She looked around at the now-deserted streets, feeling as though she were on another planet. They had walked a long way from the theater.

"It was about five to eight," Peter began again, pulling her along with him even more rapidly than before as his urgent need to finish this story for MJ translated into some very fast walking, "but I decided that those guys who'd nearly run me over had to be stopped. Not only were they endangering everyone on the streets with their dangerous driving and their shooting, but they were also going to cause a serious accident any minute with those cop cars. And since they'd destroyed my bike, they were making me late for your show! It all made me see red." He chose to omit any mention of stopping the flying police car in mid-air, since there was no way to explain that euphemistically. Heck, he'd practically dropped all euphemism even with what he'd already told her. He'd gone much, much further than he had intended. He should have expected it: somehow he often ended up saying things that he didn't plan to when he talked to Mary Jane. She always made him feel a little out of control ... _excited and at the same time terrified_, as he'd once told her.

MJ stopped walking again, completely mystified. "How did you think _you_ were going to stop them?" she asked. This story was sounding more farfetched by the minute, but it was also strangely far more compelling than any of Peter's usual excuses. He radiated sincerity and effort in the telling of it. He was obviously striving to be honest with her. She was starting to get that funny feeling again, that feeling that she'd often had around Peter of straining to catch sight of something that was just out of her line of vision, or maybe too close to see properly ...

Peter halted as well, looking around and realizing where they were – back in the neighborhood where he'd lost his bike. And sure enough, there it was, as he'd known it would be, lying in a crumpled heap across the road by the curbside. Tiny bits and pieces, including a bent and twisted front wheel, were scattered about on the nearby sidewalk and there was also a flattened carnation lying in the gutter. "Just wait here a minute," he said, releasing MJ's arm. Glad to have a moment's reprieve, he walked across the street to get the moped. He retrieved the helmet he'd tossed earlier into a nearby doorway, tucked the detached front wheel under his arm, picked the bike up by its back wheel with one hand, and began dragging the wreckage back across the street to where MJ was waiting, arms folded, a completely disconcerted expression on her beautiful face. When she saw his crushed bike up close, her eyes widened in horror. "Peter," she said in a shaky voice. "Look at your bike. How did you survive that?"

_No more excuses_, thought Peter determinedly. What had she said ... that she'd figure out the rest, if he told her part of the truth? "Can't you guess?" he said gently.

End of Part II

_A/N: See, what'd I tell you? It's lame. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Excuses, Excuses ... (Part III)**

_A/N: Oh my, I can't believe the wonderful reviews that this story has received. I didn't expect to receive any. Thank you all so much! Thank you, too, for the suggestions about how to continue the story. Let me tell you all, your reviews actually inspired me to write more -- an object lesson in the value of reviewing! I hope the new part meets with your approval. This chapter picks up right where the other one left off._

MJ blinked wonderingly at Peter's question. Was he implying what she thought he was implying? She remembered all the flimsy excuses, all the strange disappearances, all the cryptic remarks that Peter had made to her since they'd become friends. Reality seemed to tilt weirdly on its axis, causing her stomach to flip-flop crazily in response. She felt off-balance and breathless. Peter, cute, ordinary, familiar Peter Parker, just looked at her expectantly, his eyes a deep and magnetic blue in his quiet face.

Meanwhile, a host of disjointed memories seemed to be flying together at a dizzying rate – pieces of the past, fragments of speech, isolated moments, like Peter leaning on the backyard fence, saying _Whatever it is, it's something I never felt before_; a masked hero teasing her with _You know who I am_; first Peter, then Spider-Man telling her casually_ I was in the neighborhood_; a phone message that warned_ Don't go up any dark alleys_; a terrifying apparition holding her painfully by the throat and shouting_ Let die the woman you love_; Peter whispering_ there's so much to tell _and, most memorable of all, two earth-shattering, soulful kisses now merging into one intoxicating impression _– _two incredible kisses from one amazing man ...

Then, all at once, as the pieces settled seamlessly into place, reality seemed to tilt back to a level plane again, reestablishing itself as smooth, comprehensible and ... absolutely altered.

"You're Spider-Man" said MJ in a hushed voice, a delighted smile spreading slowly across her face. The revelation was wondrous and completely unsurprising at the same time.

Peter shrugged. "Um ... yeah." He hadn't meant to tell her ... or had he? ... but now that she knew he felt the most incredible sense of relief, freedom and elation that he'd ever experienced. It was comparable to those first joyful leaps he'd taken from building to building the day after the spider had bitten him. The fact that MJ's lovely face was wreathed in smiles probably had something to do with how good he was feeling, and for a moment they just beamed at each other, in total harmony for the first time in ages.

"I think I always knew who you really were," MJ said warmly, breaking the peaceful silence at last. They started walking again, without knowing where they were headed. Peter continued to drag his broken bike behind him, as they passed a siding that was entirely plastered with flyers for the Emma Rose perfume. For the first time, he paid no attention at all to the dreamy-eyed beauty gazing out of the pictures. The living and breathing beauty who was walking next to him, looking at him with such admiration and such a complete lack of shock, was occupying the whole of his attention instead.

He had fantasized about telling MJ his true identity many times, but in his wildest dreams he'd never gotten a response like this one. Sometimes he'd imagined her as completely shocked and frightened, and he'd had to calm her down by convincing her that he was still the mild-mannered Peter Parker who had grown up next door to her; sometimes he'd pictured her as laughing in mockery or in incredulous disbelief, and he'd had to perform some deeds of prowess and bravery to convince her; sometimes she'd turned away from him with tears of anger and disappointment at the lack of trust that he'd shown, and he'd had to plead for her forgiveness. Never, in all his daydreams, had she been both so pleased and so unsurprised at his revelation. He began to feel afresh the peril of spending more than a few seconds in the company of MJ Watson.

"So, tell me," said MJ eagerly, dimples appearing in her cheeks, "How did it happen? How did you become like you are now? You weren't always this way, were you?"

"No," said Peter hesitantly. The magnitude of what he'd just revealed hit him all at once, and he realized that he did not want to tell her everything. The story of Spider-Man's origins was too painful and too foolish. He was still ashamed of how he had behaved in the first few weeks after he'd discovered his powers – not to mention traumatized and grief-stricken by the results of one thoughtless action – and he did not want to expose so much of himself even to MJ. "I don't think I want to talk about that part of it, MJ," he said at length, looking at her seriously. "It's not a happy little tale."

"No, I don't suppose it is," said MJ, regarding him thoughtfully. Obviously, the secrecy that Peter had learned while covering his tracks as Spider-Man was now second nature to him. She was quiet for a moment, and then she gave him a look of such sparkling mischief that he caught his breath and tore his eyes away from her face, keeping them safely on the pavement in front of him. "How about you finish your story? What did _Spider-Man_ do after those jerks had demolished his bike and ruined his plans for an evening at the theater?"

"Well, it's kind of a funny story," said Peter, still regarding his feet carefully. Now that MJ was no longer mad at him, he was starting to see the humorous side of his evening's adventures. "Two young boys had seen me do a triple backflip off my bike, over the back of the convertible. As I landed, one of them asked me how I'd done that, so I told him, you know, that it was important to ... uh, work out, get plenty of rest, eat your green vegetables..."

MJ laughed merrily at that. "What a fine, upstanding, _responsible_ young hero he is," she teased, and then asked, "Did they accept your explanation?"

Peter shot her a wary glance. Was she laughing at him? It was a dorky thing to say, he supposed, but he couldn't exactly tell the truth and he also didn't like lying, especially not to kids. MJ met his uneasy eyes with her laughing ones, but there wasn't a trace of mockery or ridicule in them, only happiness glimmering in their green depths. _Oh boy_. His heart skipped a beat and he forced himself to look away again, covering his sudden jolt of emotion with a little chuckle. "Don't know, but one of them did say that his mom had always said the same thing. He said he'd never believed her. Maybe he'll believe her now."

"Well, it's nice to see you doing your bit to uphold parental authority," said MJ with a coy smile. Inwardly, she rejoiced at her new-found knowledge, and Peter's willingness to share it with her. She was just so incredibly pleased that the man behind Spider-Man's mask was Peter Parker. It changed everything to know that the amazing, risk-taking, high-flying Spider-man was also the sweet, trustworthy Peter Parker, a devoted nephew and a true friend who, before his days as a disappearing man of mystery, was formerly such a good listener. Not to mention that he was also the wonderful, sincere man she had once loved with her whole heart – _I'd better think about that later_, thought MJ hastily, feeling herself veering off into uncharted depths of chaotic emotion. "So, what about the car chase?" she asked instead.

"Oh that," said Peter scornfully. "I wasn't in the mood to play games, so I changed into my costume, and took off after the convertible as fast as I could. It was easy to find the driver and his trigger-happy friend; they'd lost the cops, but I just had to follow the path of destruction they left in their wake. First one of their hairpin turns nearly caused one of the pursuing police cars to crash into some pedestrians on a street corner and then later they must have knocked over a newspaper stand, and broken open a fire hydrant. I had to pause to do something to avert that car crash, but then I came after them at full steam, and they soon found that I was tougher to get rid of than the cops." He smiled darkly to himself, recalling their panicked shooting into the air, the wide-eyed expressions of terror on their faces when he'd landed lightly on the trunk of the convertible and yanked the guns out of their hands with his webs. He hoped that they would remember him in their nightmares for a long time.

He caught MJ looking at his face with a puzzled, uncertain expression, and hurriedly continued his story. "Since they were so trigger-happy, I used webs to get rid of their guns, and then linked their hands together. Then I looped a web over the arm of street light, hiked them up out of the car, and left them dangling helplessly high over the street." MJ was looking at him now with an expression of awe and wonder on her face. It made him feel uncomfortable and a bit stupid, because he really didn't want any kind of hero-worship from her.

He didn't know what, if anything, he wanted from her, actually – but it certainly wasn't hero-worship. _You'd better not want anything from her, Parker_, he warned himself firmly, _because she's not for you._

He tried to strengthen his resolve by remembering the sound of MJ's scream as she lost hold of the cable on the gondola car that he had held up under the Queensboro bridge, on that terrible night almost two years ago. Thinking about that scream was the only thing that had kept him from turning around and running recklessly back to MJ's arms as she stood weeping beside Uncle Ben's grave after he'd rejected her love on the day of Norman Osborn's funeral. But the sound of MJ's scream seemed to have faded from his ears tonight, because it wasn't evoking the same visceral fear that it once had.

As they continued walking, Peter realized that he was automatically heading in the direction of his one-room apartment. Despite the increasingly familiar buildings, though, he still had the unsettling feeling that he was heading into uncharted territory. He was acutely aware of MJ's warm presence beside him, the faint scent of lavender and strawberry lip gloss emanating from her, the bright-eyed, captivated look on her glowing face, her lissome and graceful body.

His heart racing, he returned to his story, keeping his gaze on the ground ahead of him. "The car was still rolling forward, hardly slowing down at all, when I slid into the front seat and took the steering wheel. There was a lot of traffic on the road – I couldn't safely leave it there. Thanks to those thugs, too, I was even further from the theater than I had been before my bike was wrecked. I figured it was only fair that I borrow their car for some ready-made transportation."

MJ laughed again at that, and Peter stole another glance at her. She was so beautiful, so unpretentious in her casual clothes and loosely knotted hair, and yet so full to the brim of vibrant life and love. He felt the familiar mix of elation and sheer terror that her company often elicited, aggravated by the awareness that he was now standing on some kind of a precipice as result of his unguarded self-disclosure. What had he been thinking? True, revealing himself to MJ was a tremendous relief, but it was also a selfish and a dangerous thing to do. MJ was still absorbing the impact of his astounding revelation, he was sure, and when she had figured it out, he knew he was going to have to look out. He realized with a sudden shock that, as liberating as sharing his secret with her was, it hadn't truly changed anything between them. They still couldn't be together; he couldn't take the risk, or let her take the risk – if she even wanted to, that is. Hadn't she said that she had a serious boyfriend? He shook the disturbing thought away for the moment.

MJ was still looking at him with a bright eager face, one eyebrow arched expectantly as she waited for him to continue. He quailed at the admiration in her eyes. Let's see, he thought, how to remind MJ of what a complete and utter loser Peter Parker could be at times ... _Oh yeah, the usher_ ...

"I had to go back and get my clothes from the alley where I'd hidden them," he said in an unsteady voice, "and then I drove to your play. Let me tell you, it's not easy to change your clothes while driving in busy traffic, even if you do happen to have super-fast reflexes and double-jointed agility." This elicited another melodious laugh from MJ, and Peter went on a little breathlessly after hearing it, still forcing himself not to look at her, "I left the car in a No-Parking zone and rushed into the theater, only to come face-to-face with the most annoying usher..."

"So there truly was an usher?" interrupted MJ in surprise. She supposed she should have given Peter the benefit of the doubt earlier, because his story was certainly casting a different light on things now.

"There truly was an usher" said Peter with a wry smile, "and somebody really needs to say something to that usher, MJ, because he had me tying my shoe laces and straightening my tie, only to refuse me entrance into the theater auditorium with a smile more sadistic than the Green Goblin's. '_I'm sorry, sir, but no one is to be admitted once the performance has started. It helps maintain the illusion_,'" he mimicked in a snooty voice.

"I think I know who that is," said MJ, her dimples leaping into vivid relief as she suppressed a laugh. Poor Peter. It was a contradiction that a person could be a powerful, self-sacrificing super-hero and such a hapless geek at the same time, but somehow he managed it. She found it side-splittingly funny and endearing at the same time. In retrospect, she was amazed at herself that she had not discovered Peter's secret sooner. Had she been wilfully blind? Peter was so inept at times and his excuses had been so transparent – she should have guessed on her own. She'd had so many clues, she realized, starting with the time she had slipped in the cafeteria and Peter had caught her easily with one arm, while employing his other hand to balance her lunch tray and use it to intercept her falling food. She also recalled an astounding fight between Peter and her ex-boyfriend Flash, a fight in which Peter had moved like a dancer or an acrobat, and had unleashed a punch that had thrown that neanderthal halfway down the hall. After enduring years of torment from bullies like Flash Thompson and his buddies, it must have been very gratifying for Peter to be able to win for once. "Tell me, don't you ever wish you could use some of your abilities to get back at insufferable people like that?" MJ asked, trying to understand what it must be like to be Peter Parker, amazing Spider-Man, every day.

"Sometimes," admitted Peter. "I often wish I could web my editor's mouth shut. I got to do it once, as Spider-Man, and it was _very_ satisfying. I thought about discretely webbing this usher's feet to the floor, but it would have been pointless. And I was too depressed to hang around by that point in any case."

He thought for a moment. He had something he needed to say to MJ, and now was as good a time as any. "You know, MJ, being Spider-Man doesn't really solve my problems. In fact _he_ is the source of my problems. He's voracious and all-encompassing: he takes most of my time and energy, so that I have almost nothing left over for school or work or the people I care about – like you, Harry, Aunt May." He gave her a piercing look as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys. They'd almost reached his building, and he decided that he would drop his bike off in his room, and then take MJ home. Part of him wanted to prolong their time together, to offer her some tea in his room or something, but ultimately, what purpose would that serve? "Spider-Man doesn't leave much room for Peter Parker," he commented, still holding her gaze with his expressive blue eyes.

MJ looked at Peter anxiously. She was beginning to see where this speech was going, and she wasn't sure she liked it. "Why do you do it?" she asked, in part to head him off.

Peter hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. He genuinely didn't want her to think that he was any kind of a hero. "It's usually a matter of life-or-death, MJ," he said quietly. "The other day I was late for class for the umpteenth time because I prevented a steel girder from falling on the heads of six construction workers. It's not like I can say, forget it, I need to get to class, or I'd like to hang out with friends, or whatever ... when doing so would probably mean that people like those guys would be dead, and their wives and kids would be without husbands and fathers." He sighed heavily, and turned to mount the porch stairs of an old and dilapidated building. "I don't want any deaths on my conscience ... or any _more_ deaths, that is."

MJ frowned, and was about to ask him what he meant by this strange remark, when she realized Peter had set his helmet and his mangled bike down, and was unlocking the front door of the building beside them. "Here's where I live," he said quietly. "I thought I'd drop my bike off in my room and then take you home. What do you think about that?"

"OK, I guess," said MJ, disappointed, as she walked slowly up the stairs to the front door of his building. She wasn't ready for their evening together to end yet; she had so much she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to say. This news was so overwhelming, so incredible, that she still hadn't got her head around it. She wanted to talk it over with Peter, figure out what it all meant. Sighing, she picked up Peter's helmet and held the front door open for him, and he lifted the bike easily into the front hallway and turned on the light. She followed him in, and they mounted several flights of stairs, passing through the dingiest, dirtiest stairwell that MJ had ever seen. When they reached the top flight, he placed his finger on his lips silently, and then lifted the damaged bike one handed high off the ground, so that it wouldn't scrape on the hardwood floor. Then he moved swiftly and almost noiselessly from the stairwell towards the direction of the facing hallway, and disappeared around the corner.

Peter had nearly reached the end of the hallway, when he perceived that MJ was still climbing up the stairs and stopped. MJ tried to tiptoe steathily after him, but just as she passed the first door, it flew open with a bang, startling her and causing her to drop the helmet.

"Rent!" someone shouted in stentorian tones.

"Hi, Mr. Ditkovitch," said Peter, suddenly reappearing, minus the bike, at MJ's elbow. MJ looked into a shabby, crowded kitchen, in which a bunch of heavy set men were playing poker and drinking beer. A big-eyed, blonde teenager in a tight, midriff-baring tank top was washing dishes in the background. She was bony and waif-like in appearance, and when she saw MJ standing next to Peter, her face took on an even more pinched appearance. One of the men, who wore a greasy undershirt, had risen from the head of the table and was glaring at them. The whole scene reminded MJ disturbingly of her dad's drunken poker nights at home with his buddies, and she bent to pick up the dropped helmet to hide her discomfort.

"As I told you, I'll have the rent money later this week," Peter was saying in a placating voice, while he tugged MJ away from the doorway. He was extremely embarrassed that MJ had to witness this evidence of his insolvency, and he wanted to get her away from the disagreeable scene as soon as possible.

"Later, always it is later with you!" groused Mr. Ditkovitch. "I can't live on later! Look at my daughter! She's so thin, she'll starve if you pay me later!"

The skinny blonde girl at the sink looked over an angular shoulder at them, and blushed an unbecoming beet-red. "Papa!" she scolded quietly, adding something unintelligible in another language. Then she looked apologetically at Peter.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ditkovitch, I know it's inconvenient," Peter was saying politely. "I do appreciate your patience, believe me." He backed away as he said this, steering MJ in front of him with a guiding hand on the small of her back. "By the way, this is my friend, MJ – Mary Jane Watson."

"Nice to meet you," MJ called brightly over her shoulder, as Peter drew her inexorably down the dim and dreary hallway.

"You're lucky my daughter likes you, Parker," came the shouting tones of Mr. Ditkovitch. "Only for her would I put up with this ..." At that there was a loud crash, which sounded like a plate breaking, and a female voice began screaming in another language, possibly Russian. Peter winced, and went to retrieve his bike and the loose wheel from where he'd left them leaning against the wall. "Sorry about that," he mumbled, blushing himself.

MJ was struck forcibly by the contrast between Peter's current living situation, and his childhood home. Having lived next door to Peter for nearly twelve years, she knew that May Parker had kept her house remarkably pristine and cosy. MJ had been in it a few times, mostly for birthday parties when both she and Peter were small, and had always noticed that it seemed more spacious and comfortable than her own house, although the layout was identical in every respect. While MJ had covered her ears on a nightly basis to get away from her parents' screaming arguments or her dad's loud anger, she had never once heard any of the Parkers raise their voices. In fact, when she was little, she had envied the serenity and closeness of the family next door. She had often seen Aunt May baking in the kitchen and bringing Peter cookies while he studied the bugs on the ground with a magnifying glass, or Uncle Ben sitting out on the back patio with his nephew, while Peter tried to look at the stars or the moon through a cheap telescope, or both of the Parkers serving as smiling guinea pigs while Peter experimented with his new camera. On Sunday afternoons, they had climbed into the yellow Oldsmobile, and taken Peter to museums, zoos, botanical gardens and planetariums. She knew, because she often heard them talking together about wherever they had been as they got out of the car and unlocked the front door of their house in the dusky evening twilight. At the time, MJ hadn't necessarily wanted to go to all those places herself, but she had envied Peter the outings and wished she could tag along, just to get out of her house and into a more peaceful atmosphere.

"Hey, Tiger," said MJ roguishly, as she followed Peter through the door of his tiny room, and set the helmet on his desk. "I think your landlord could win a shouting contest with my dad." Peter gave her a small smile at that, then propped his battered bike, along with its bent front wheel, against the tiny bar fridge, cabinet and sink on one wall of his room. MJ privately thought the room was squalid and cramped, but she couldn't help noticing the few homey touches that Peter had added: books, the odd poster, and photographs everywhere. Not only were there pictures clipped up and drying all over the place, but she also noticed with a stab of joy that Peter had tucked that strip of silly "See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil" pictures she'd given him a year ago into the corner of his mirror. On a bedside table nearby was a family photo of the Parkers, and an old photo, which must have been taken in high school, of a younger MJ herself, her hair held girlishly back from her face in a head band, wearing a light purple top that clashed with a long, dark green sweater. The smile on her face was an effervescent one, though, and she looked radiant. It was a much better shot than most of the pictures in her professional portfolio. MJ couldn't quite place when that photo had been taken, but she felt gratified that Peter kept such a flattering picture of her out at all.

"It's not a very nice room," Peter said apologetically, noticing her looking around.

"Don't sweat it," said MJ nonchalantly. "My apartment is not much bigger than this, and it doesn't have your incredible view." She looked at the windows, which stretched from the high ceiling almost to the floor and were like French doors in style. "The windows are great," she added.

"Yeah, they're the main reason I took this room," agreed Peter quietly. "They make it easy for me to come and go." He looked at her for a moment as if making a decision, and then he said nervously, "Speaking of going, would you like me to take you home?"

"Oh," said MJ, startled. "I guess we can go, if you like." Sadly, she turned to head out the door again, but paused when she saw when Peter take a hesitant step towards her.

"No, actually ... I meant I could take you home the fast way" said Peter shyly, "You know, using the old web-slinging express – that is, if you want me to."

"You mean that?" asked MJ delightedly. She'd had countless fantasies of soaring through the city with Spider-Man since the memorable day when he had saved her from falling to her death at the World Unity Festival and carried her to safety on a romantic rooftop garden. Now that she knew who Spider-Man truly was, she realized with a thrill that some of those fantasies might actually come true. Her original ride had been simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying, but it had also been over far too quickly. Since that time, MJ had yearned to repeat the unique and indescribable experience. "Of course I want you to," she said eagerly.

"Okay, then," said Peter, with a quiet smile at MJ's obvious excitement. He had wanted to hold MJ in his arms and soar through the city with her again ever since the unforgettable afternoon when he'd rescued her from a collapsing balcony. The exquisite feeling of her slender body next to his was burned into his memory. Earlier, while they were walking back to his room, it had occurred to him that he could give them both this one last treat, before MJ went off to live happily ever after with her boyfriend and he went back to his lonely life without her.

MJ went over to window and looked out over the darkened streets. The city lights were sparkling in the distance, giving the whole scene a magical appearance. As she gazed down, she suddenly became aware that Peter was standing right behind her, reaching over her shoulder to unlock his window and swing it wide open. She shivered with pleasure at his proximity, and turning to look at him, realized in amazement that he'd already discarded his good clothes, which were lying in a neat pile on the foot of his bed. Since she hadn't observed him undress, MJ felt as though he had undergone a kind of metamorphosis. Her stomach clenched almost painfully at seeing him in his costume for the first time, with Peter Parker's ordinary head incongruously perched on Spider-Man's lean and muscular body. It was an uncanny transformation. She understood the truth about Peter Parker at last: he really_ was_ the amazing Spider-Man, the hero who had saved her life twice, who was constantly rushing off to protect the people of New York city, who gave and gave and gave, expecting nothing in return.

Without looking at her, Peter was pulling on red gloves. Then he leaned past her, surveying the buildings opposite and looking up and down the street. When he was satisfied, he caught up his mask and jumped lightly onto the window frame, which was a few inches off the floor.

"Ready?" he inquired, holding out a hand to her. When she placed her hand in his, he swung her up effortlessly to stand next to him on the window sill, supporting her whole weight with merely his hand.

They looked into each other's eyes for a timeless moment. The undeniable connection between them snapped tight and pulled them closer together. For a breathless second, MJ thought Peter was actually going to kiss her; the look in his blue eyes was so intense and ardent. Instead, he abruptly let go of her hand and drew his mask down over his face. Then he pulled her smoothly into his arms, diving out of the window at the same time in one incredibly fluid movement. As they plummeted towards the ground with sickening, heart-stopping speed, MJ felt as though she'd left her stomach behind on Peter's window sill, and screamed in mindless terror, clutching desperately at the strong shoulders beneath her hands. Her companion calmly shifted her, keeping her tight against his body, and raised an arm, casting a web. The next thing she knew, they were sweeping through the air, riding a swift and graceful arc back up towards the sky.

End of Part III

_A/N: Thanks again for all the great reviews of the first two parts!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Excuses, Excuses ... (Part IV)**

_A/N: Another installment of my talky, fluffy fic: here's the flight of Peter & MJ, (along with a few other events and reflections). I debated skipping the flight, or only making it a paragraph long, but some nice reviewers asked to see it, so here it is. Oh, and I'm not sure if my description of that police cruiser's angle and position is accurate – I couldn't remember exactly how it looked. When the DVD comes out, I may edit that part if necessary. _

It was a minute before MJ felt brave enough to open her eyes and look around; even then, she was careful to avoid looking down into the black canyons of the city streets below them. Yet, although their swinging motion was still exceedingly fast, it had developed a regular, almost a soothing rhythm, and they stayed fairly level near the tops of the skyscrapers. MJ realized that Peter was casting web after web, releasing each one before they had time to drop far, and catching the next almost immediately. It meant that they were hurtling forward at an incredible speed – faster than the fastest car ride she'd ever taken, faster even than the law-breaking speeds her old boyfriend Flash had loved to reach in his fancy silver convertible. However, it also meant there was no sickening plunge towards the streets, no sensation of falling. MJ felt a little thrill as she reflected that Peter was controlling their motion for her sake, so that she would feel safe.

"You okay?" Peter called to her. He felt guilty that he had leaped out the window without giving MJ any warning, frightening her unnecessarily with that first dive. But as they'd stood together on the window sill, he had been drawn into her emerald eyes, noticing for the first time the tiny gold flecks in their clear depths. They were so inviting that he'd felt the almost irresistible desire to kiss her. He'd needed to do something quickly to stave off an urge that had been growing all evening, increasing every time their eyes met. It had been almost a reflex action for him to pull on his mask and to launch them both into the air.

Now, he was relieved to notice that she was relaxing in his arms, her heart rate slowing, her breathing becoming steadier. Not that this made _him_ any calmer, unfortunately. Whether she was pressing herself desperately into his body, frantic with fear, or nestling comfortably into his chest, as she was at the moment, the feeling of her soft curves against him was so pleasurable that it was all he could do to keep his mind on where they were going. _Remind me again, _he thought sardonically to himself, _why you thought it would be a good idea to hold the woman you love in your arms? You're trying to let her go, to let her get on with her life, remember?_

"I'm fine now," MJ responded to Peter's question. She was feeling embarrassed that she had screamed. Peter would think she was a baby or a coward, unable to appreciate the exceptional gift he was giving her. "I know you'll keep me safe – you won't let me fall." As she said this, she realized it was true. She felt completely contented, at ease and secure in Peter's arms, even though he kept shifting her around, changing the arm wrapped tightly around her waist in order to cast webs in different directions and maintain their momentum. His broad, muscular chest felt reassuringly solid, the arm around her waist as strong as iron, the powerful muscles of his shoulders, which were bunching and flexing as he shot out his web lines, firm under her hands. She spread her fingers involuntarily, stroking them lightly.

_We'll see about that_, thought Peter, closing his eyes beneath his mask at the incredibly sweet, tingling sensation aroused by her fingers as they delicately touched his back.

"I won't scream again," MJ promised. In response, Peter held onto the line that he had just caught, and they swooped down swiftly towards the street below, in a steep motion that was wilder than the wildest roller-coaster ride. MJ immediately broke her promise by letting out a little scream, this time of delight, and they both laughed.

"See? It's fun," Peter said, as they rose up towards the sky again. MJ had to agree. The world around them was dark and mysterious, the lights of the office buildings turning into mere streaks as they whizzed by. MJ would have found the experience terrifying if it weren't for the warm solidity of Peter's body. With Peter, it was exhilarating. She couldn't help but be impressed by his control, his speed, and his strength. The webs seemed to be coming out of his own body, and MJ marveled at the dexterity and stamina that allowed him to grasp an almost invisible thread in the darkness, and to use his muscles not just to hang onto it but to propel himself forward so rapidly. Remembering how much she'd hated climbing up ropes in gym class, MJ knew that Spider-Man's web-slinging must require a massive amount of strength in his arms and chest.

At the top of their latest arc, Peter let go of his thread, and for a moment they were flying, suspended in mid-air, and then falling forward into the soft darkness. Suddenly, he cast another web line to the right, caught and held it, and they were hurtling toward the street again, the wind whipping some of MJ's bound hair loose around her face. This time Peter let out an exuberant "Whoo–hoo!" as they swept over the top of a low building and began climbing back up. MJ's heart had nearly stopped, but she didn't mind; the sensation of freedom was glorious and Peter's enthusiasm was infectious.

"There's something I need to take care of," Peter called to MJ, as he let go of the thread high in the air, and caught a web line that pulled them sharply to the left. "I just remembered something I forgot to do. Do you mind?" MJ thought about all the times Peter had said the exact same thing to her, and then disappeared, not to be seen again for weeks, sometimes months. She could only conclude now that he must have been referring to spidery "somethings" all those times, and felt a little excited to see what it was he was going to do this time. For once, she wasn't being left behind.

"Sure," she said agreeably, and Peter changed their direction, doubling back the way that they'd come. They traveled for a few moments in silence, with Peter casting web lines one after another without a break, keeping them high above the city while propelling them forward quickly. Then abruptly he began angling them down toward the streets, controlling their descent with his webs but allowing gravity to pick up their speed, until the lighted windows of the nearest building raced past and the top of a small brick apartment building loomed suddenly in front of them. Instead of landing on top of this building, though, he vaulted over the edge of it and landed on its front wall, shifting MJ to his hip and bracing himself on the wall with both feet and a hand.

MJ realized that Peter was lowering her onto the top of a fire escape and stretched her feet into the darkness, trying to feel for the metal floor with them. As soon as she touched it, Peter withdrew his arm, and she had to catch a rickety railing in front of her to keep her balance.

"I'll be right back," said Peter, still clinging to the wall above her, but looking off into the distance, at something MJ couldn't see.

MJ looked up at him archly. "How many times have I heard that before?" she said teasingly.

Peter did a double-take. "Of course I'll be back – what, you think I'm going to leave you up here?" he asked. "We're fifteen stories off the ground, and the ladder on this fire escape isn't extended."

MJ dimpled. "You'd better be back, Tiger," was all she said. Disconcerted, Peter didn't reply, but instead leaped sideways off the building onto another building opposite; then he zigzagged his way rapidly to the ground by leaping back and forth between the two buildings. As he neared the bottom, he caught a light pole with a web line, and swung himself out over the nearby street. MJ could see that they were near a major intersection, which was where Peter appeared to be headed. Suspended over one of the street corners of the intersection was the one of the weirdest sights MJ had ever seen. There appeared to be a white car just hanging in the air, angled downward. At this distance, she couldn't see what was holding it up, but she was willing to bet that she could hazard a guess.

Peter landed lightly just behind the police cruiser, which was still suspended in the air. He could see that the entire area had been cordoned off and that the intersection was blocked with orange traffic pylons and detour signs. He was kicking himself mentally for not remembering the car sooner; usually, when he left heavy things suspended in webs, he liked to come back and take care of them right away. He never could be sure how long one of his webs would last – some appeared to last 24 hours or more before they dissolved, while others broke down in a matter of minutes. He supposed it had something to do with how thick they were and how carefully he had spun them, as well as the amount of weight they were supporting. The criminals he tied up usually stayed that way, sometimes for hours, because ordinary people didn't seem to be able to break or even cut through the web-strands. However, the heavier the object, the more quickly the webs seemed to unweave themselves, and cars were pretty heavy. He knew, too, that he'd caught the flying police car as swiftly as he could in order to save those pedestrians who were waiting for the light to change, and he was afraid that the webs he'd used to halt its momentum weren't thick or strong enough to last long.

Sure enough, when he approached the cruiser he could see it swaying dangerously. The strands supporting it had begun to weaken. The vehicle itself, which now had a door hanging open on the driver's side, appeared to be empty, and there were no people nearby, thank God, but he could tell that car was still going to come down heavily any minute, damaging itself, the sidewalk and the possibly the building behind. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he have forgotten about it? He felt guilty as he realized that he had no idea how much time had passed since he'd averted the car crash; he'd allowed himself to become distracted with MJ for far too long. Just one more reason why a superhero couldn't afford to have a girlfriend, he thought unhappily.

Trying to decide how to get the car down, he jumped sideways onto a nearby wall, where one of the web strands was still attached, in order to inspect it. In the light of a nearby street lamp, he could see that it was slackening and losing its tensile strength. He didn't like to take hold of it, in order to lower the car down to the ground slowly, for fear that it would break and crumble to nothing in his hands. He sprang forward off the wall, doing a somersault in the air and landing in a crouch just below the sagging cruiser. Straightening, he looked up. The car was too high overhead for him to reach it from the ground. He could leap up, he supposed, and pull on it, but it would be difficult to control its rate of descent or its landing from midair.

As he was deliberating, he heard an ominous creak and felt his spider-sense flare in warning. The cruiser was coming down _now_, he realized, taking the decision out of his hands. The remaining strands all seemed to snap at once, and the front end of the car dropped like rock towards his head. On instinct, he raised his arms and bent his head forward, feeling a crushingly heavy weight fall onto his shoulders and upper back. Knees bent, teeth gritted, he held onto the front bumper of the car with his hands and forearms for an agonizing second, supporting the vehicle's whole weight with his shoulders, while he tried to control its descent. Then he shoved it backwards off of him, in the general direction of the blocked intersection. It fell down with a loud bang and a crash, as first the back then the front hit the ground hard. Peter spun around. Miraculously, the police car had landed on its wheels, and none of its windows were broken. The front end was dented, but perhaps that had happened during the car chase. He let out an exhausted breath, and took hold of the cruiser's bumper again, lifting and rolling the car out of the intersection, towards the side of the road. He left it neatly parked by the curb, just around the corner from the intersection. Then he turned to leave.

A small knot of two or three onlookers had gathered to watch, and as he cast a web line to take himself back across the street, he saw someone push toward the front of the group, yelling, "Hey, Spidey! Wait!"

It was a police officer. He had his hands raised in a placating gesture as he ran towards Peter, and he called out again, "Wait! I'm not gonna arrest you."

Peter paused reluctantly, holding the line tightly, ready to give it a tug and use its elastic tension to zip himself up and away if necessary.

As the cop ran right up to him, Peter could see that he was young – perhaps just a few years older than he was himself – and burly; he was also a fresh-faced red-head, and probably a rookie. Breathless, the cop extended a hand, palm up, and said, "I just wanted to shake your hand. You saved twelve people from being crushed by that police cruiser tonight – and the two officers in the car. I took down some of the witness statements myself."

Completely dumbfounded, Peter just looked at him. Only two other people had ever thanked him; a mother whose baby he had saved from a fire set by the Green Goblin on Thanksgiving a year and a half ago, and MJ, with her perfect, unforgettable kiss in the rain. To be fair, he didn't usually hang around long enough to allow people to thank him. Still, this experience was so novel that he found himself totally at a loss.

Realizing that the silence was becoming awkward, he took one hand off of his web line and grasped the cop's hand firmly. The two men shook hands. "Uh ... no problem," said Peter, still flabbergasted by this unexpected event. "Officer ...?"

"Flaherty," said the cop. There was another awkward silence. "Wait till I tell my four year old that I shook your hand," he went on after a moment, with an air of suppressed excitement. "He's a big fan of yours."

Another silence. Peter didn't know what to say to this.

"Oh, and we finally got those two crooks who caused the accident off of that street light," Officer Flaherty added, after a few more seconds of awkward silence. Initially rather tongue-tied in the flesh-and-blood presence of the amazing Spider-Man, he was obviously starting to get over his awe. He chuckled to himself and said, "Hanging them together by their hands – that was pretty funny, actually. You know, we couldn't break the stuff that they were dangling from. It took two fire trucks to get them down – they had to be lifted over the light pole. I've heard that they're still linked together."

"Uh ... great," said Peter, feeling like an idiot. It was really silly of him to leave them up there like that, he realized. He hadn't thought about the trouble it would take to get them down. "Did they get arrested?" he asked in concern.

"Oh, yeah," said Flaherty with relish. "They're scumbags, part of a gang that's been knocking over pawn shops and money marts all over the city. We had a tip off about their next target, and were ready for them tonight. I wasn't there, but I heard about it from some of the guys on the force. There were 5 witnesses to the robbery itself. Then, because we'd cut off their route to their getaway car, they shot some kid and carjacked a convertible. There were witnesses to the shooting, too."

Peter felt sick. "What happened to the kid?" he asked. He had a feeling he knew.

"He didn't make it," said Flaherty quietly. "They shot him in the face. He was only 17 – borrowed his dad's car to take his girl out on a date. They shot the girl, too, but the bullet went through her shoulder. She's gonna be fine."

_I doubt that_, thought Peter bitterly. All of a sudden, he remembered the convertible. "Uh ... about the car ..."

"We found it," reassured the cop. "Smart of you to leave it in a no-parking zone. We still haven't got the money and the stolen goods out of the backseat though. They're all stuck in one of your webs."

"Sorry about that," said Peter, feeling even more idiotic. "I didn't want anyone to take the stuff." He thought about the kid who had been shot and added grimly, "I hope you put those guys away for a long time. I have _issues_ with carjackers."

"We will," said Flaherty, with equal grimness. There was another awkward silence, and then Flaherty said in a rush, "I just wanted to tell you ... no matter what the papers say, some of us on the force, we think you're a real hero. You make our jobs a lot easier."

"What's your four-year-old's name, Officer Flaherty?" Peter asked, to cover his embarrassment.

"David."

"Well, tell David I said Hi," said Peter. Then he pulled back hard on his web line and leaped into the air, using its elastic force to propel himself into the side of the building across the street, then alighting on it five stories up from the ground. Depressed, he crawled round the corner of the building away from the main street and just hung there above the alley way for a minute.

Sometimes it seemed like he ought to spend all of his time being Spider-Man. He wondered unhappily if he could have prevented that carjacking somehow. Would he have sensed it from high above the city, if he hadn't decided to go to the theater to see MJ? Would he have gotten there in time? Intellectually, he knew there was no way he could thwart every crime in the city, but he often felt that he needed to be doing more than he was ... like fighting crime almost 24-7. Regardless, the conversation was a timely reminder – just the cold shot of reality that he needed to shock himself out of the infatuated daze he'd been in all night. He had no business pursuing MJ, even if she was the girl of his dreams.

End of Part IV

_A/N: I finally have an idea of how to end this interminable fic. Only one more part, I think. I'll get it up as soon as I can. I just have to write it. Thanks for all the support!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Excuses, Excuses ... (Part V)**

_A/N: I realize MJ's apartment probably doesn't have a balcony. It looked pretty small, and I don't remember seeing an outside door anywhere in her bedroom. However, I needed there to be one for all kinds of reasons, so I hope you can pretend with me that it does. I should add that one part of this chapter is once again heavily indebted to the movie. Parts of this chapter are also excessively fluffy. You have been warned._

It was time to end the fantasy. Peter leapt backwards across the narrow alley to the building opposite, and went bounding rapidly all the way up the wall by bouncing back and forth between the two buildings. Landing on the top of the apartment building where he'd left MJ, he paused a moment to catch his breath and to prepare himself to see her again. He felt a pang of guilt. He had no idea how much time had passed since he had left her up there ... twenty minutes? Half an hour? ... Another reason why they couldn't be together ... MJ deserved someone who could give her his undivided attention, who wouldn't keep her waiting or stand her up on dates. He sprang to the edge of the building, balancing himself on the high cement balustrade that surrounded it and looking down at her, as she stood on the top of the fire escape, waiting patiently.

She was leaning out over the metal railing of the fire escape, obviously wondering where he'd gone and perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of him. Even from the back, she was so beautiful that his throat closed with emotion. He didn't know what he was going to do when he'd sent her back to the arms of her boyfriend after tonight, except grieve. He'd been grieving her loss for two years, he knew. Sometimes he thought he mourned the loss of MJ almost as much as he had mourned the death of Uncle Ben.

_Enough with the pity party, Parker_, he told himself sternly, and jumped down off the balustrade, landing lightly just a few inches away from MJ. She started violently and pressed a hand to her chest.

"You surprised me!" she exclaimed with a little laugh.

"Sorry," said Peter, contritely. "Were you waiting long?"

"Just ten minutes," said MJ with a twinkle in her eye. "That's got to be a record for you. I can't remember the last time you kept me waiting for only ten minutes. And a very interesting ten minutes it was, too. I saw you catch that car on your shoulders and flip it onto the street."

"Oh well," shrugged Peter indifferently. He turned away from her, resting his hands on the railing and looking down at the intersection, where he could just make out Officer Flaherty writing in a little notebook under a streetlight. "I wouldn't have had to catch it, if I'd remembered to come back and get it down earlier."

MJ frowned. Something was wrong. She wished she could see Peter's face beneath his mask, but even though she could not, she could practically touch the blue funk hanging over his head. "What did that cop say to you?" she asked, quietly.

"Oh nothing ... he was just thanking me," Peter said diffidently. He turned back to her and added, "Let's get you home."

At that, she came willingly into his arms. He held onto her for a long moment, resting one gloved hand on her silky, sweet-smelling hair, and one on her slim waist. Then he gathered her up with his hands, jumping up onto the railing of the fire escape. He balanced there for a moment, keeping her tight against him.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently, resolved not to frighten her this time. When she nodded gravely, he sent out a web line, stretched it taut, and leaped off the railing.

For a second, MJ felt the familiar heart-stopping sensation of falling, but Peter let go of the thread almost immediately and fired out another web line so that they didn't fall far. As they rose towards the sky on the new line, MJ felt as free and as light as a bird. She'd had an interesting ten minutes watching Peter get that car down and thinking over all his contradictory actions during the past two years. In particular, she'd been remembering one heart-breaking conversation beside a gravestone. If she was honest with herself she had to admit that she'd never recovered from it. As soon as possible they were going to revisit that conversation, she had decided, standing alone on that fire escape.

Recalling all the intense or tender or passionate looks Peter had given her over the years, she was sure that Peter loved her – not just as a friend, but fervently and deeply. Hadn't the Green Goblin said so? Why else would he pick her of all people to taunt Peter with? She felt a fierce surge of anger at the monster who had tried to force Peter to choose between being a lover and a hero, when he was so obviously both. The whole incident, which had once been so mysterious and confusing to MJ, made sense now. And after tonight, she was certain that Peter's feelings for her were as strong as they had been the night he'd saved both her and those kids in the gondola car. She was equally certain that no one in her life had ever loved her as much as Peter loved her.

Her own emotions were still a confusing tangle, but she couldn't deny that her heart was drawn to Peter whenever she saw him. When she spotted him in a crowd, he seemed like the only _real_ person there, and she could usually read his mood in seconds each time they were together. And unfortunately the deep pain she'd felt every time he'd abandoned her and left her alone with an empty chair was the most powerful, _real_ emotion she'd felt over the last two years, too. She was beginning to be very afraid that she was still desperately in love with Peter – that she'd never stopped loving him.

No, it was more than that ... in a crystal instant of clarity, she _knew_, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she couldn't survive without him. What had she been doing for two years but waiting? She'd always be waiting for him. She had thought she'd grown tired of waiting at last, but her anger and grief when Peter had apparently missed the play tonight proved that she wasn't yet ready to move on. Yes, MJ thought determinedly, tossing her now loose hair out of her eyes, they were definitely going to have that conversation soon.

They alighted, and MJ realized in shock that they had arrived at the small balcony behind her bedroom. She couldn't believe how quickly they'd reached her apartment. Come to think of it, Peter hadn't even asked her for directions – how had he known where to go? MJ found it very telling that Peter knew where she lived without asking.

Peter steadied MJ on her feet and then took his hands off of her. MJ's heart sank as she realized that their fantastic journey was over. Once again it was too soon. Once again there hadn't had been enough _time_ for her to savor it, and she was left craving more of those indescribable sensations of rising, rushing and falling.

"Can you get in here?" Peter asked, looking at the door to her bedroom.

"The balcony is high enough off the ground that I don't normally keep this door locked," said MJ, reaching a hand out to the door knob. It turned easily and the door swung open, revealing a rosy glimpse of her bedroom, which was bathed in the golden glow of her little bedside lamp. MJ's heart was tripping fast in her chest: how many evenings had she stood out on her balcony, picturing Spider-Man swinging down to her, and imagining a romantic idyll between them – and now it was really happening! She turned to Peter in excitement, only to find him backing away from her.

"Well, I'll be going, then, MJ," Peter was saying.

"What?" said MJ in dismay. "No! Stay! We can talk out here, or I can give you something to drink inside ..."

"No, I'd better be going," Peter insisted. "I've got lots of papers and assignments to catch up on."

MJ's lips tightened when she heard that familiar excuse. "Can't we talk a little more?" she pleaded.

Peter sighed. He pulled his mask off his face, ruffling his hair with a gloved hand, and making it stand up on one side. He never could resist MJ when she wore that adorable look of entreaty. "What do you want to talk about now?" he said impatiently, folding his arms across his chest. Avoiding her eyes, he looked down at the row of little pots, full of tiny seedlings, that MJ had lined up along either side of the balcony door.

For a moment, MJ was at a loss for words, and then she bravely decided to jump in with both feet. "I've been thinking about _us,_" she said conversationally.

_Oh great_, thought Peter. He felt grumpy that they were going to have this conversation now, after such an emotionally exhausting evening. "What _us_?" he shot back snarkily. He tossed his mask irritably onto the back of a nearby wicker chair.

MJ raised her eyebrows at that. "You're right," she said coolly. "There's never been an _us_ ... and I've been wondering why for a long time."

Peter was getting more ticked off by the second. "MJ, we're _friends_. That's why there is no _us_."

MJ couldn't believe it. Before her eyes, the earnest, sweet and confident man with whom she'd spent the last two hours was transforming into that incredibly annoying, shifty-eyed man she knew so well from various missed dates. "Of course there's no _us_," she snapped. Her eyes glittered and blazed with green sparks. "Because you won't get on board. Well, Peter, you know, you can't get _off_ if you won't get _on._"

"I don't want to get _on _... or _off_, for that matter," Peter exploded. He closed his eyes and pressed his gloved fingers to his temples to calm himself down. He certainly didn't want to be yelling at MJ. He knew why he was angry ... he was frustrated at the whole horrible, unresolvable situation.

He opened his eyes and there was MJ, standing so close to him that he could feel the heat radiating off her body and smell the lavender scent clinging to her clothes. She leaned so far into him that all he could see were her wonderful green eyes, which he stared into as if hypnotized.

"Don't you?" she whispered, giving him the most alluring look he'd ever seen.

"No," he breathed, trying to back away.

MJ swallowed, feeling the prick of tears in her eyes. She was not going to cry, dammit! She was an actress, after all. She took a step nearer to him, aligning her body with his so that they were almost touching at every point.

"Peter ... do you love me or not?" she pressed, keeping her eyes wide and clear, and then sweeping the lashes down over her cheeks and back up again, shooting Peter a second provocative look that pierced right through him.

Peter's heart sank. After an evening of refreshing, powerfully liberating openness, it nauseated him that he was going to have to lie to Mary Jane again. He'd always hated it, which was why his excuses had been so lame, and now he could hardly make himself do it. He tried envisioning the Green Goblin dropping MJ off the bridge; he tried recalling her scream as she lost hold of the cable of the gondola car. But all that horror was drifting away from him under the beguiling spell of MJ's eyes. Finally, without any resources left to rely on except his own will, he simply said, "I don't," and looked away.

"You don't," said MJ flatly. Peter shook his head determinedly, still ducking her icy glare. MJ thought idly that it was strange she wasn't feeling as destroyed as the last time Peter had rejected her. Instead, she felt almost numb. Numb and disgusted. There were those shifty eyes again. The sight of them reminded MJ of her realization earlier and she decided she had to get through Peter's protective wall somehow. She knew he loved her, she was sure of it – and she was going to prove it to both of them. If knocking at his door wouldn't do it, she'd just have to use dynamite.

"I need you to do something for me, Peter," she said sweetly.

Peter looked up into MJ's face at that, and was arrested by the dangerous spark that was leaping into her eyes. "What?" he asked warily.

"Kiss me."

Transfixed, Peter just stared at her for a moment. Had she said what he thought she'd said? No way was he going to kiss her; if he started, he seriously doubted that he would be able to bring himself to stop. That kind of intimate contact would also make it impossible for him to disguise his feelings ... which he had no doubt was exactly the reason why MJ was suggesting it.

"K-kiss you?" he stammered. He struggled to maintain his resolve but, unfortunately for him, the expression on MJ's beautiful face was becoming openly seductive. At the sight of it, he wanted to kiss her more than ever; he could barely restrain himself. He took another step backward, and found he had backed himself into the side wall of MJ's balcony.

"I need to know something," breathed MJ into his face. Her breath was deliciously cool and smelled of strawberries. She lifted her hand and placed it palm forward on his chest, causing Peter to stand bolt upright at the electrifying sensation. "Just one kiss," she insisted softly. Then she pursed her lips, lustrous in strawberry lip gloss. Taking a step forward until her slender body was brushing against him, she tilted her face up to his.

_This is a bad idea ... scratch that, this is a **horrendously**_ _bad idea_, Peter thought desperately. But suddenly he found he couldn't help himself, couldn't prevent what he was going to do, even though what was left of his rational mind was begging him not to do it, frantically telling him to swing away.

Their lips were almost touching. He could smell the delicate floral scent of her hair, see her tawny eyelashes fan gracefully over fair cheeks as her eyelids fluttered closed, and nearly taste her luscious mouth. In a last-ditch effort at self-preservation, Peter whispered, "Don't you have a boyfriend?"

With a jolt, MJ remembered John. She hadn't thought about him once since Louise had mentioned him at the theater hours ago. He seemed to belong to another life, to someone else's life, not to the life of Mary Jane Watson, that extraordinary girl loved by the amazing Spider-Man himself. She spared John a pang of guilt, because he was just so nice that he didn't deserve to come second, and then she pushed him resolutely out of her mind. A girl had to do what a girl had to do. And Peter was still trying to get away from her, damn him!

"I don't know, Peter Parker," she murmured with an enticing smile, "I think it depends on you ... tell me, do I have a boyfriend?" She arched an eyebrow, and the look she gave him could have melted steel.

Peter breathed hard. His eyes were on her exquisite pink mouth, which was once again forming a perfect rosebud. It looked so delectable that he couldn't tear his gaze away ... and all at once, before he knew it, his lips were on hers and she was enclosed tightly in his arms and he was kissing her, oh boy, was he kissing her, without knowing quite how he had begun. She tasted sweet, like strawberries, and it was all so good, so delicious, that he dipped in again and again, trying to get more. His head spun, and in the dizzying swirl of emotion and sensation he knew only one thing: he could never get enough of MJ Watson. He lifted her slight form right off the ground and cradled her against his chest, spinning her slowly around and pressing her into the wall of her building with his body, and still he went on kissing her. He kissed her with all the pent-up hunger and frustration of his lonely, isolated life, finally allowing the passionate emotions he'd bottled up for years to burst forth and overwhelm him. Inwardly, he exulted in his total loss of control, because kissing MJ felt as liberating and as exhilarating as flying; it was even better than web-slinging.

MJ kissed Peter back just as eagerly, passionately and wholeheartedly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him as close as possible. Her heart swelled with happiness and wonder while her body stirred fiercely, coming alive. Peter's clinging kisses, which sometimes lingered fervently and sometimes brushed her lips with feather-like touches, scorching and tantalizing them, were driving her wild. She felt her knees buckle, and she was sure that she would have fallen if he hadn't picked her up and supported her back against the wall. Then, incredibly, Peter's kisses deepened further. Their heat and tenderness moved her profoundly, causing two tiny tears of joy to begin seeping from underneath her eyelids.

Feeling ecstatic at this overwhelming evidence of Peter's love, MJ broke the kiss for a moment. She had something to prove. As she pulled away, Peter gently set her back down and buried his face in her hair, murmuring "MJ ... oh, MJ ..." over and over in a husky voice while stroking her back lightly with his gloved hands. MJ felt her lips curve in a triumphant smile, and stepped back a little within the circle of Peter's arms to look into his stormy blue eyes. They were naked, seemingly completely bottomless, full of need and wonder and ... love.

"See, Tiger?" MJ said roguishly, "_That_ was the kiss of a man in love. I've felt it twice before, so I know it well." Smiling radiantly, she reached up to kiss him again ... but all at once he reared back and slipped out of her clutching hands.

At her words, Peter's heart had plummeted. He was caught and he knew it. He looked at MJ almost fearfully, with a deer-in-the-headlights sort of look. The real world was crashing back around him with all of its ugliness and pain, its violence and misery. What did he think he was he doing? He would always be Spider-Man; he had no choice. And Spider-Man's destiny was a solitary one. It had to be, or people, precious people like Mary Jane Watson, would get hurt or even killed.

With nowhere left to hide, and no excuses left to offer, Peter did the only thing he could think of in his panic: he caught up his mask and fled, taking a swift and silent swan dive backwards off the balcony.

He didn't allow himself to fall far, though, flipping himself under MJ's balcony and hanging there beneath it for an instant while he tried to collect himself. His heart was pounding, his blood was pulsing heatedly throughout his body, his eyes were burning, and he felt sick with self-loathing and regret. As he had slipped out of MJ's arms and backflipped off her balcony, he'd heard her give a startled cry of distress, and he knew that he had once again wounded her to the core. Now he could hear muffled sobs coming from above him, and he hated himself for breaking her heart a second time. Why had he allowed the two of them to spend so much time together and to get so close? he raged. How could he have permitted her to discover his secret? Why had he indulged himself by holding her in his arms, by _kissing_ her, for God's sake? His actions had been prompted by a selfishness of the worst kind.

He quickly swiped the back of his hand over his eyes to dash away some scalding tears of anger and shame. As he did so, he remembered the mask, which he was clutching in the hand that he wasn't using to grip the underside of the balcony. Better pull it on – better remember that _it_ was his life. If he'd acted responsibly and remembered Spider-man's job earlier, he would never have gone to the play, never have tried to justify himself to MJ, never have led her on by spending so much time with her. If he'd only stayed completely away from her, he could have avoided causing them both the grief and anguish he could hear in MJ's sobs. He'd better make sure that he learned from this mistake and left her alone from now on.

He pulled on his mask and crawled sideways along the building and around two of its corners, until he was clinging to the wall on the side farthest from MJ's balcony. This wall faced in the opposite direction and he knew he could launch himself away from her building without MJ seeing him. If he could manage to stay in the air, that is. His limbs felt like they were made of lead, and his heart felt even heavier. Bleakly, he raised an arm, wrist bent and facing upwards, in order to fire a web line, and a gossamer strand of the thinnest, wispiest web he'd ever created issued forth. It looked like it might disintegrate entirely at his touch. Heedless of its fragility, he caught the flimsy thread and pulled it taut. Then Spider-man swung away into the darkness, numb with misery.

MJ was sitting huddled in her wicker chair. She'd wept helplessly for the first few minutes after Peter had so suddenly disappeared from her balcony, but now she felt as though she literally had no tears left to cry. She pushed some damp strands of hair back from her face, and tried to understand what had just happened. One minute she'd had everything: knowledge of Peter's secret life – knowledge he had willingly shared with her! – Peter in her arms, Peter's wonderful kisses, the certainty of his love. The next minute she had nothing. Peter had disappeared so quickly that she hadn't even seen which way he'd gone, and she also had no idea why he'd left in the first place. Hadn't he trusted her with his secret? Surely he should know that he could trust her with his heart as well?

Feeling utterly drained, MJ stretched her cramped muscles and stood up. She walked to the edge of the balcony and peered out into the darkness, as if she could still catch a glimpse of Peter swinging high above the city in the distance. Remembering their spectacular flight, she understood now that Peter had meant it as a farewell. His revelation next to that mangled bike had not been intended as a way for him to let her into his life, or to allow her to share his burden, but as an excuse – the most plausible, the best and most satisfactory excuse he'd ever given her – but an excuse all the same. It was an excuse for why they could never be together. What had he said? _Spider-Man doesn't leave much room for Peter Parker_. All at once, although she had thought she'd cried herself out, hot tears were stinging her eyes again. _Why don't I get to have any say in this decision_? MJ thought piteously. _Why can't he respect me enough to let me make up my own mind? _She couldn't believe he'd placed her in the same hateful position again: once more he'd gone off and she'd been left behind wondering.

MJ turned her back on the city and walked through the half open door of her balcony into her bedroom. Her small apartment appeared forlorn in its emptiness, the normally cheery theatrical posters on her living room wall looking garish and discordant in the shadows cast by the solitary light of her little bedside lamp. The digital clock beside her bed read 1:30 am ... wow, it hardly seemed possible that she could have experienced so many emotions in the three short hours since she'd left the theater. No wonder she felt completely wrung out.

MJ unwound her scarf, took off her trench coat and hung it in her closet, and began to get ready for bed. She was just coming out of the bathroom in her robe, brushing her hair, when she noticed the light blinking on the answering machine. Oh dear, she could bet she knew who that was: good, reliable John, calling her to find out how the play had gone tonight and to tell her how much he'd missed her, just as he'd done nearly every night of the two weeks he'd been away. She crossed over to the machine and pressed the playback button.

"Hi, honey," came John's cheerful voice. "Gosh, I'm sorry I missed you. I came to the theater tonight after the show. That was my surprise – they let us go a day early. But you'd already gone. Your friend Louise said you left in a hurry to go back to your apartment, so I hope you get this message. I'd still like to see you tonight. Call me at Dad's. I love you."

MJ looked at the machine quietly and weighed her options. She could go on with her life as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, call John tomorrow – it was too late to call him now – maybe meet him for breakfast. She could continue a normal relationship with a good, ordinary guy who would always be there for her. That was what Peter had intended her to do, she was sure of it. Or she could ... what? Wait around for Peter to come to his senses? Call and give him a piece of her mind? Confront him face-to-face? She wasn't sure, but she was sure of one thing. Whatever Peter had meant to do by letting her in on his secret, he had also done something she knew he hadn't intended to do. He had made it impossible for her to return to that ordinary life. With a slowly forming resolution growing in the back of her mind, MJ pressed the delete button on her answering machine and went to bed.

The End

_A/N: This is really the end, folks! Thanks for reading!_


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